When Saturday Cums 1

As a Premiership football star, you can do almost anything you want. You can push the referee over if you disagree with his decision. You can jump into the crowd and kick the shit out of a fan who you perhaps take a dislike to. You can get involved in slashing someone with a bottle at a city night-club. You can make a calculatedly cynical tackle to end the career of a fellow player. You can even rape a girl and later claim it was consensual. But one thing, it seems, you can't do. One thing that will end your chosen career quicker than anything. One thing that will make you a sporting pariah and send legions of often-times hypocritical supporters rushing for the exits.

Which in itself might appear to be something of a problem for Gareth Hicks - City's newly-signed &pound;5 million striker - given that he was engaged in this supposedly illicit activity at that very moment. Had his supporters known that he was gay and that he was currently sucking the hard, dripping cock of another man, they would undoubtedly have come to very different conclusions about a fellow they had simply all assumed was a typical lad-about-town. As it stood, however, they clearly had no idea as to what sort of young man the dashing fellow really was - and with any luck that was the way things would remain.

Gareth was a fraction short of six feet and a shade short of twenty-four years of age. He was sturdy and muscular (as one would expect for a professional athlete), with short, dark brown hair and hazel eyes. His face was much more than just plain handsome and he boasted a fine, angular chin with a cute little dimple that made him appear almost angelic. As for his body - it was tanned, firm, smooth and utterly desirable. Little wonder, then, that he was considered a golden-boy, whose healthy looks were paralleled only by his talent on the pitch, where he mastered the ball with an aptitude that even his rivals could do little but marvel at.

Yet for all his skill in the game, it was balls of a distinctly different nature that would always gain Gareth's most devout attention. Which brings us to this present moment, as he lay gorging on the rather enviously-endowed cock of one Todd Rankin; slipping its hard, regal length between his lips and over his searching tongue. That he was giving a blow-job at all would've confounded the sports critics had they known. That he was giving a blow-job to City's twenty-eight year old first-team captain would've outraged them even more. But that was exactly what Gareth Hicks was doing at that moment: cast on a lily-white bed, stark-bollock naked and chewing on the eight inch manhood of a supposedly happily married man with two kids.

Actually, Gareth's shaft was pretty impressive itself - slightly shorter than Todd's maybe, but a tad thicker and possessing more in the way of thick, throbbing veins down it's meaty span. Having lost his cherished virginity amidst the boot-studs and shin-pads of the local football team's changing-rooms at seventeen (to an older player), the young man had spent much of the time since engaged in similar hot-ball action with a selection of young footballers, all of whom were as randy and highly-sexed as he was. So much, it seems, for the theory that there is no such thing as gay men in the beautiful game, for some of the hardest men in it would often turn out to only really hard when it was time for the showers after the match.

Todd Rankin was one such individual. Shorter than Gareth, with short, bottle-blond hair (of which he was fiercely proud) and dark brown eyes, Todd was a forthright, manly sort of guy, with a brushing of stubble, whose fierce-some reputation on the pitch disguised the blunt reality of a man who enjoyed being porked on any bright occasion. Not that Gareth had been aware of his real character when he had first arrived at City's ground, Brandon Park, several weeks back. He regarded the team captain as utterly desirable and yet totally unattainable, though he hadn't been attending the training ground many days before the first suspicions crossed Gareth's young mind. A knowing glance here, a friendly touch there, but nothing exactly definite until -

The end of a training session four days previous, on the eve of a match with lowly-placed Rovers, when Gareth had been called back by the manager, Steve Rooney. The coach had wanted to inform the lad of his decision to pick him for the game - his debut for City following his signing from United - but the conversation had proved a little more prolonged than perhaps anticipated. As such, the changing rooms were empty by the time Gareth stepped through the door - pulling off his soiled jersey and revealing his fine pecs in the process. So it was a case of showering alone and stripping away the rest of his clothes, he now crossed the room in the buff - his splendid frame a living example of the glory that is youthful manliness.

Like a Greek god, he stepped into the showers - which at first were somewhat on the cool side and which resulted in a mass of goose-bumps crowning his muscular body. It was, however, but a momentary slight. Seconds later and the water was warm and inviting, as Gareth took hold of the soap and began to lather his smooth chest, his muscular arms, his hairy legs and finally his sweaty, fuzzy groin, which up until this point had been closeted by a tight-fitting jock-strap.

He was alone, of course, so it perhaps didn't matter that his long, probing fingers were a little keener in exploring his body than might otherwise have been the case. As it happened, the thought of all his fellow-players having showered there just minutes before was enough to excite his feverish psyche and it was little surprise that his balls should begin to churn and his cock begin to harden. Indeed, it was a reaction that seemed only to gain in intensity as Gareth gradually soaped his crotch, working the bubbles into his skin until his knob was as stiff and heaving as any young lad's cock can be. In engaging in such carnality, however, the footballer lost a certain keenness in his external senses and as his eyes started to roll to the back of his head, he failed to notice the return of one of his colleagues, who had apparently left something behind in his locker.

That someone was Todd Rankin, who could not help but stand for a moment to watch the playful lad in action - his own well-blessed shaft straining in his trackers at the vision before him. Officially, of course - as with everyone else associated with the game - he was a red-blooded male, whose lust for cunt was testimony to his being straight. In truth, however, it was very much man-cunt that interested him and seeing his colleague playing with his firm, uncut joy-stick, he quickly began to crave the feel of that juicy pole between his all-too-empty cheeks. Just the thought of it pounding away in his guts was enough to make his own cock-head moist and tingly and it was with something of a bitter reluctance that he found himself compelled to interrupt the clearly uncompromising display before him.

'So,' he smiled - a single word that threw Gareth into a sudden fit of embarrassment. 'What the fuck do you think you're doing then, young man? Didn't Rooney tell you that you shouldn't have sex before a match?'

The youngster burned bright like a beetroot, as he fumbled and dropped the soap. 'Oh my God,' he exclaimed, feeling very much like a young lad who had been caught by his Dad having a wank, 'you're not gonna say anything to the others, are you?' he pleaded. 'I was just - well, I was just washing myself ... and I kind of got carried away, that's all ...'

Gareth's colour started to drain from him - though his rosy cock was still awkwardly refusing to subdue. 'On what?' he asked, fearing the worst of the captain's response. After all, Gareth Hicks was a talented soccer-player and there was no saying what sort of jealousies were currently playing around in Todd's dark mind.

'On whether or not you're prepared to clean my boots,' the skipper replied.

It seemed something of a strange request to the younger lad - after all, there were plenty of trainees at the club to do that sort of thing. All the same, it would be worth it if it would spare his tender ego. 'Okay,' he finally spluttered.

'With your tongue!' Rankin swiftly added.

Gareth's chiselled jaw dropped. 'My tongue?' he ejaculated.

'Your tongue!'

'Never!'

Todd stepped towards the door - at which point the youngster panicked. 'Wait a minute - I'll do it!' he agreed.

For a horrible moment, Gareth thought that Todd might mean for him to lick his dirty training boots, which were hanging up on one of the nearby pegs, but for all his mastery of the situation, City's captain wasn't quite as abusive as that. Instead, he threw his leg forward so as to fully expose the expensive leather trainers he was wearing - diamond white in colour and smooth in texture. It was therefore with something of a grand relief that the lad stepped forward - still supporting the hardest of erections - before falling naked to his knees so as to perform the requested ritual.

With an understandably hesitancy, the younger fellow eased himself down to within a breath of the shoe, before Todd raised his other foot and placed it calmly on Gareth's shoulder. 'Come on then, boy!' he demanded. 'I want you to lick!'

The striker knew better than to ignore such a request and began to lap earnestly away - trying desperately to hide his hard, oozing cock as he did so. After all, this apparent humiliation was turning Gareth on tremendously and there was part of him that was actually enjoying his present role-play. But of even greater encouragement was the thought that Todd's own cock was but a few inches above his head - which, had he been able to look up, he would've seen bulging away in the captain's groin.

'Right,' the skipper smiled, 'now I want you to work slowly up. When I tell you to stop, you can start licking again!'

Gareth could hardly believe his ears. Todd Rankin, the captain of City, was inviting him to move towards his most intimate organs - and it was an summons he could hardly refuse. For days now he had wondered about the man - as to whether or not his furtive glances and posturing were an indication of physical attraction. Here, it seemed, he had his answer and grazing every upwards, the young man at last dared to position himself more favourably with what stirred in Rankin's briefs.

'Now,' Todd explained, realising that his colleague had noted the mound in his joggers, 'I want you to pull down my trousers and start sucking my big, fat dick. You think you can do that?'

Strangely enough, Gareth felt a little more in control again now, knowing as he did that he would shortly have the fellow's rod between his teeth and he glanced up with those steamy hazel eyes of his. 'I should think so,' he noted coolly. 'After all, it won't be the first I've ever had to deal with ...'

The captain grinned - a warm, affectionate smile that testified to them both being equals in their sport once again - whilst pulling away his top and revealing a slight band of hair across his broad, beefy chest. 'Actually,' he remarked, noting that the showers were still running, 'why don't we slip back into somewhere warm and wet ...?'

Gareth rose to his feet, so that he was again an inch or so taller than the older player. 'Tell me, mate,' he quizzed, 'aren't you supposed to be married?'

Todd laughed. 'What the hell's that got to do with me wanting you to stick that nice-looking cock of yours up my fucking arse-hole? What my wife doesn't know will never hurt her - a bit like the fans, I suppose ...'

The younger lad was perhaps less certain of the validity of his argument, but his cock was pounding away again by this stage and the thought of being able to fuck the team captain in the showers was sending him into overdrive. As such, he pulled away Todd's trousers, before locking the changing-room's door (which the captain protested was unnecessary) and then leading him back into the humid flow of water nearby.

They were both totally naked now - groping and kissing as the showers pumped down from above. Their lips touched (gingerly at first, but soon with added passion), as their pelvises gyrated together in sensual, rhythmic motion. Both men were excited and very, very hard and as the water kissed their glorious, bronzed skin, their cocks rubbed each other with ever-increasing fervour. The whole thing seemed oh, so immoral - and yet so wantonly natural.

Gareth looked down at Todd's offering, which was drooling with lashings of tasty pre-cum - although he could hardly tell given their wet surroundings. It was the first moment that he had regarded it with any great seriousness, but noting that it was a thick, eight inches, found himself almost mesmerised by its potency. So it was that his knees slowly buckled, as he trailed his searching tongue over Todd's firm, erect nipples - lashing them into a frenzy, before continuing on down his six-pack stomach. From there, the skipper's knob was but a breath away and reaching up with his one hand to cup his well-hung (but evidently shaved) balls, the youngster swallowed hard in almost agonising anticipation of the pleasures that were yet to be his.

He was back on his knees now - only this time there was water pouring across his handsome face, as Todd's throbbing hard-on pulsed before his very eyes. It was a near-heavenly organ - long, quite thick, smooth, uncut and with a full head peeping bravely from beneath its skin. It was also surrounded by a grove of neatly-trimmed hair, which gave the fellow almost a boyish appearance. For all his outward signs of rough, unadulterated manliness, Gareth was beginning to get the distinct impression that Todd Rankin was really nothing more than a big softy, who longed desperately for the loving touch.

The captain's shaft slipped so easily into Gareth's mouth that one might almost have thought that the organs had a deep affinity to each other. Before many moments had passed, the cock-head was pumping away with primitive gusto - knocking the back of the striker's throat and lubricating his palate with a thick coating of salty excitement. Not that Todd would be totally content with oral satisfaction, given that it was something that even his wife could give. No, the fellow wanted something hard and strong (and hopefully very, very long) winging its way up his aching rear and it seemed altogether possible that the young and eager Gareth Hicks might well be able to appease his carnal urges in that manner.

They slipped from out of the shower again and towelled themselves down - their monstrous erections still refusing to abate - before Todd threw himself over one of the nearby benches in readiness for the roasting to come. Gareth, meantime, reached for a rubber and some lube out of his team-mate's bag, before bending down to examine his skipper's crack with deeper interest. It was a surprisingly hairless clit, given the fact that Todd was a bulky, fully-developed male, although by now the younger lad was clearly aware of the fellow's desire for smoothness. Not that Gareth seemed in the slightest bit intimidated by such an inclination, having fucked his way through a variety of men these past few years and it was with something of a searching tongue that he began to flick that rosy ring, etching his delightful way in preparation for his more substantial offering.

But it was hard cock that Todd wanted more than anything at that moment and he urged the lad to stake his manhood there and then. As such, Gareth found himself pulling on the rubber and oiling the skipper's butt in readiness. A second or two later and the youngster was pressing down on his mate, forcing his way inside that sweet, tight butt-hole, whilst Todd groaned and whimpered in almost joyous appreciation of the move, calling out to his friend to fuck him harder and deeper.

That, of course, was like inviting Michael Owen to score in front of an open goal. For fucking and being fucked were such natural and in-built activities for a lad like Gareth Hicks that he was able to screw like an animal without so much as a conscious thought. Indeed, by the time his cock was firmly embedded in arse and his balls were slapping merrily against Todd's rump, he was not so much the up-and-coming footballer that the sporting world would've recognised, but more the private, carnal monster, who was already up and who would very soon be coming! As for Todd Rankin - he was now very much the tamed master, whose well-disposed position in the game was somewhat juxtaposed to the way he was sprawled helplessly across the hard, wooden bench, crying out from the sheer, unadulterated pleasure that Gareth was presently providing.

Cum, it seemed, would soon be showing its white, sticky nature and it wasn't too long before the younger lad found himself quite unable to hold back any longer. The urge to spunk the contents of his taut, hairy bollocks was starting to override every other fundamental desire in his body and pulling his cock from the warm, homely comfort of Todd's shit-hole, he ripped the rubber aside in expectation of the shower to come. As it happened, mind, perhaps deluge would've been somewhat of a more accurate description, for after an initial bolt of thick, creamy sperm (which blasted its way across the captain's firm, manly back), there followed a full cascade of man-juice from the engorged end of his scarlet knob, which even managed to reach the nape of Todd's shaved neck. It was the show of a lifetime - except that this was the manner with which the fellow usually exploded. He was, after all, a young, keen lad with only football and sex on his mind (and not necessarily in that order). His balls were full of man-milk, his cock was almost always hard and with a constant bevy of handsome studs surrounding him in his professional life, it seemed a sure-fire bet that this was the way things would continue for the foreseeable future. Gareth Hicks, it seemed, was truly blessed - well-endowed, rich and with the world (and often a comely stud) at his feet. Who could ask for anything more?

Much the same, of course, could be said of Todd Rankin, who concluded the scene by lifting himself up just in time to spurt the ample contents of his groin across the terracotta tiles beneath them. Like his new colleague, he had more than a passing interest in his fellow team-mates and possessed more than enough talent between the sheets to ensure that he would continue to score in that department. What was remarkable about City's captain, however, was his apparent ability to meet the purest expectations of both wife and society, whilst at the same time displaying an almost unparalleled hunger for manly cock. To Gareth, who was unquestionably gay (and happy with it), such conflicts of interest seemed puzzling - though he had long since grown used to it in the game. For the world of football, which was so blatantly homophobic, was teeming with such individuals - all of them unable to express their true feelings for each other beyond the changing rooms and snared by the seeming demands of a society that failed to understand the need of these stars to love their fellow players in every spiritual and physical sense.

They kissed - almost with a touch of fondness - before returning to the showers to clean themselves of the gooey results of their passion. Ten minutes on and they were dried and dressed - ready, it seemed, to return back to the desired normality of society outside, where Todd Rankin and Gareth Hicks were team-mates in only the most platonic of manners.

Since this lusty encounter, however, there had been little stopping these two luminaries of the sporting arena - who, some four days on, were still sucking, rimming and fucking like the near-desperate animals that they were. True, the surroundings (on this occasion Gareth's house, which he was renting prior to finding somewhere permanent following his move) were now a little more comfortable than the changing rooms at the training ground, but precious little else had changed at all and Gareth was still gobbling his skipper's cock like it was going out of fashion, slipping his rough tongue over its swollen shaft and running his lips across the bulging arch at its hard, pounding head. There was no lasting commitment on the part of either of the two handsome chaps, but for the moment there appeared to be no let-up in their lust for each other - which, ultimately, would result in yet another sticky blow-out from both their respective cocks. After that, they might talk and laugh - with Todd undoubtedly repeating his assertion that he should return to his wife - before their carnal instincts once again take hold and the two of them lap at each other's cocks and fuck each other's butts with seemingly unending appetites.

Football training in the Premiership, it seemed, had never been so good ...